


Love's not a Four-Letter Word

by bjfic_archivist



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Canon, No Slash, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-01-31
Updated: 2004-01-31
Packaged: 2018-12-27 01:43:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12071112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjfic_archivist/pseuds/bjfic_archivist
Summary: Brian thinks about what Justin means to him.





	Love's not a Four-Letter Word

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

Something has truly changed in the last week. You want to think it’s your new unemployed status, but that’s not it. You barely even felt the loss of your possessions, even though you alluded otherwise to everyone else. To the untrained naked eye you took the hit in true drama queen fashion, complete with drunken orgies and nightly drug binges. 

But the reason for your newly accelerated partying isn’t due to you lake of employment; it’s your feelings for a certain blond twink. Yeah, sure you’ve felt this way for him for a long time (since you laid eyes on his Aryan figure, to be precise), but it’s stronger now—since his return from the clutches of the fiddler. It’s like that corny-ass song you’ve been hearing on the radio lately:

“Now don’t it always seem to go  
That you don’t know what you got till it’s gone?”

You know the one. Well, it’s been playing through your head like an old worn-out record and you can’t get it out of your mind. Ever since you first heard it, you’ve wanted to say THE words to him—especially after the election. You can think of a few very specific times that you almost let them slip; but you always caught yourself on time. How could you possibly say those words when you’re almost certain you’re going to fuck it up? How could you ever begin to convince him that you meant what you said? You know that if your mother tried to convince you of that you’d tell her to fuck herself. How could he ever trust you? How could you ever trust yourself?

You turn over and look at the peaceful sleeping form next to you. He’s hardly stirred since you began your reverie. You look at the cigarette in your left hand and realize that you haven’t been smoking it and it’s burned all the way down. So you stub it out and gather your angel into your arms. It is at this exact moment that you realize you can’t fuck this up. You won’t let yourself. You realize saying the words to him would be different than your mother saying them to you. Because you mean them. Slowly you lean in towards your lover’s ear and whisper the words you never thought you’d say to anyone.

“I love you,” you whisper with such sincerity that it almost scares you. You knew that saying it the first time would be the hardest, but you can’t stop the shiver that shoots down your spine. Even though you can hardly speak around the lump that’s formed in your throat, you say it again. “Justin, I love you.” His lips curve into a slight smile and you know he’s heard you. You place a small, soft kiss to his temple and settle down to sleep. You know that tomorrow will be your first day as a grown-up.


End file.
